Sinful
by teh-fargs
Summary: A handful of drabbles on Smoker and Ace's relationship through the past years. SmoAce


Title: Sinful  
Pairing: Smoker/Ace  
Rating: T for somewhat explicitly implied sex  
Notes: A handful of drabbles on the boys' relationship through the past years

_Lust: to have an intense or obsessive desire, especially one that is sexual._

Ace is a tease and he knows it. He enjoys it, really, the attention that his bare chest and low slung shorts get him, whether it's from women or men. Ace isn't picky when it comes to love; he's a firm believer in a pretty face no matter the gender and no matter the race. Especially if said face has, in turn, caught _his_ attention.

Which is why he's sending a drink over to the scowling man in the corner of the bar and winking when he looks up, only getting a glare in return. But that's okay because it's only eleven and he's leaving now and someone's following him.

He turns and feels his body slam into the concrete behind him. He smirks as thick fingers dig into his arms. He's missed this, counted down the hours for this. He's missed the rumble of a predatory growl in his ear, missed the feeling of rough and unforgiving pressure against his lips, and he's even missed the overpowering scent of nicotine and musky cologne.

Ace knows that there's nothing beyond sweat and limbs and curling toes during his evenings with this man, but Ace doesn't mind. Their secret meetings are full of gasping moans and heated passion and nothing else but Ace doesn't mind.

That's all he really cares for these days anyways.

_Gluttony: excessive eating and drinking._

Smoker watches from the back of the bar as the familiar laughter seeps through the entire room. The owner of such noise is grinning drunkenly and winking at a pair of girls who had made the unfortunate choice of sitting across from him. Smoker scowls and Ace drowns another bottle.

Smoker hates a great many things about Ace. There are a few things he doesn't mind about the boy – pointless things not even worth mentioning, like the smell of Ace's hair – but there a great many more things Smoker doesn't like. Ace's drinking is almost at the top of the list, right below 'pirate' and 'Whitebeard'.

It's not as if Smoker never drinks. Quite on the contrary, Smoker enjoys whisky very much. But it's not the alcohol Smoker hates; it's the way Ace loses all consciousness and rationality. He doesn't often get like that, but Smoker once had to save Ace from walking off a cliff because a group of pirates had told him 'it'd be lots of fun'. When Ace gets like that, gets into the swing of things, he drinks in excess to the point where he's not even sure where he is anymore.

Ace has a lot of strange habits but they all seem to peel away when he drinks like that, drowning shot after shot, and they expose a strange and confused young man who's eagerly ready to do anything for a smile and even though his eyes light up in that certain way all the time, Smoker hates it. His body loses its smooth, confident stride in exchange for a quick and easy walk that sounds all too much like his brother and scared the hell out of Smoker the first time he'd snuck into the man's cabin while completely drunk out of his mind. It's too young and too innocent and too naïve and Smoker _hates_ it.

So here he is, ready and waiting for the inevitable moment when Ace will once again go over the top and Smoker will have to once again go in and arrest him just to get him out of whatever he's gotten himself into. Again. Smoker tells himself he doesn't care and it's just a good excuse to arrest a pirate but he knows he doesn't work that way, attacking from behind. He's better than that but so is Ace and he's currently tying knots into cherries with his tongue and laughing and drinking and completely clueless to the hungry eyes watching him from all over the room.

Smoker sighs and stands up when he catches a glimpse of a blade digging into flesh before it clatters to the floor as Ace blinks slowly at the gaping hole in his stomach, repairing itself as flames lick around the edges until there's nothing left but the same tanned skin that was there before. He laughs and drowns another shot and Smoker knows he has no self-control and finds it a little disgusting.

_Envy: a feeling of discontent or covetousness with regard to another's advantages, success, possessions, etc._

"How is it that you can be so sure of your cause?"

Ace wants to ask this every time he watches Smoker and Tashigi converse about strategy or the whereabouts of some new unruly pirate gang. Sometimes he just wants to grab the man by his jacket and shake him until he understands that what he's doing is impossible; that what he believes in doesn't exist.

But then he remembers that Smoker's jacket is draped around his shoulders and he's currently hiding in Smoker's closet as the man has a meeting they both forgot about, so that'll have to wait until he gets out.

Ace tries his best to believe in his dreams but even he has moments of downfall. He wonders if Smoker has ever had a bad day like that, where everything seems to fall apart and nothing is possible. He wonders whether the man's unwavering faith in right and wrong has ever been wavered. He wonders how Smoker can be so sure in his choices when no matter what he does, someone still ends up getting hurt.

Ace likes to think of himself as a pretty open guy, but there are some things that Ace knows, deep down in his gut, are wrong. Not in the moral sense of the word, but simply in the sense that the thoughts of the other party are fully and wholly incorrect.

Smoker is one of such cases. He moves and speaks with such precision that Ace is sure even someone as stubborn as his brother's right-hand man could be persuaded to see the light in Smoker's words. Smoker thinks that there is always a single and true right answer to every problem. Ace knows that the real world is not like Smoker's world; nothing is absolute black and absolute white. Everything is a shade of gray.

Ace knows he's right but damn, he'd like to wish he were wrong.

_Greed: excessive or rapacious desire, esp. for wealth or possessions._

Watching Ace sleep, Smoker can't help but indulge himself one last time. He slips his fingers between tendrils of Ace's hair and savors the soft silky feeling. Ace is addictive in this way, always there and always giving but somehow holding back until Smoker is begging for more of him, begging for that one more second, that one more kiss.

Ace shifts under his fingers and curls in closer to his chest. Smoker frowns at him. "Fucking pirate," he grunts, tracing the pattern across Ace's back. The boy's lips twitch upwards and Smoker wonders what it is about him that's so damn vital. There has to be something keeping him from throwing Ace out of his room the moment the night's actions were done, something that stopped him each time Ace's lips met his own, each time those dark eyes stared out from beneath him, heavy and lidded.

The boy is a drug and Smoker feels that no matter how many times he uses him, Ace is always offering something just a little better that Smoker has to try.

_Sloth: habitual disinclination to exertion; indolence; laziness._

"Oi, Portags. Get up."

"Hnnn…" Ace replies and blinks up at the man standing over him.

Smoker scowls darker. "I said get up."

"I'm tired…" Ace whines, hugging the pillow next to him. "Don't make me go."

"It's morning," Smoker says blankly. "Get out."

"No."

"Now."

"_No_."

"Portgas…"

"Please?" Ace begs, pouting and staring at him with pleading eyes.

Smoker glares at him and their eyes meet for a second. Ace sticks out his lip even farther and Smoker turns away with a growl, returning to his desk and glancing once more at the boy in his bed before sticking a hand in his hair and hunching over the paperwork piled across his desk.

Ace smiles into the pillow and breathes in deeply. Ever since three years ago, Ace has fallen in love with the smell of cigars, the heavy scent that fills his senses until there's nothing left of his clouded mind but ash and dust and smoke.

_Pride: a high or inordinate opinion of one's own dignity, importance, merit, or superiority._

Some days, Smoker finds, are harder than others; harder to wake up at five in the morning; harder to crawl out of bed; harder to tear his thoughts from only a few hours before this, when his back was slick with sweat and lust filled moans and childish freckles were all he knew. Some days, Smoker finds, are also harder than others in believing that pirates are the enemy, especially when one was lying naked across his bed, sleeping without a care in the world of being arrested.

Yet still, Smoker is a man of justice and the road to glory is not without her troubles, and for Smoker, those troubles are pirates. His mind is made up even before his hand touches Ace's hair in a greeting to wake, his eyes hardening as Ace blinks up at him.

Every thing he does is in the name of justice.

_Wrath: vengeance or punishment as the consequence of anger._

Ace is not upset. He's not angry either. He's not even frustrated.

He's downright fucking _furious_.

Smoker had no right to send him off like that, for no other reason than his own sorry-ass belief in ultimate justice. Ace doesn't care that there was no room for him in such an equation; what they had, whether it be right or wrong, had lasted through three years of fighting and visits to the jail and breaking out again and returning the next evening like nothing ever happened. So why break it off now? Why, when he was feeling safe and secure buried in Smoker's arms, had he been pushed away?

Ace grinds his teeth and his skiff shoots forwards with a white-hot burst of flame. He needs something to vent his anger into but even the wind rushing through his hair as he picks up speed isn't enough. He's going to break his skiff if he keeps this up, but he doesn't care. Let it melt. Let everything melt. It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. I want it broken. I want everything broken. Just like me.

Finally reaching the familiar ship, Ace stops his vessel and stares at it as memories continue to berate his mind. He thinks about the first time he got away from the man and the first time he was allowed to go. He thinks about all the sleepless nights and their tangled limbs under the cover of darkness. He thinks of the first time Tashigi caught them and the faces the two had made. He also thinks about the first time he told Smoker he loved him and how no reaction but a gruff, "Do what you want," had come of it.

Ace takes a great breath and screams at the top of his lungs, aiming for the heavens and above, and it feels good to tell the world of his anguished heart.

"SMOKER!"

Ace glares into the deafening silence; even the ocean has silenced its laughter in the presence of his rage. As a familiar face disappears from a familiar window, Ace is sure that Smoker knows why he's here. Ace is also sure that he deserves everything he's going to get.

_Salvation: deliverance from the power or penalty of sin; redemption._

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Smoker barks, shaking Ace by his arms. They're both covered with sweat and blood and lingering flames licking at the odd cloud of smoke. The boy stares at him with wide, shocked eyes. "Get the hell out of my life before someone kills you!"

Ace's breath catches. "You're just… protecting me?"

Smoker glares at him and says nothing. There really isn't much to say. He watches as arms slide out of his grasp and snake over his shoulders while Ace settles against his chest as if nothing has occurred between them. Hot breath ghosts over his neck and into his ear as his hands find their way to Ace's hips.

"I don't mind being in danger," is the soft whisper of a reply as fingers run through his hair and down his neck, lips finding their way to his own. As they fall back onto the bed and Smoker pins Ace down, he wonders whether this is sin or salvation, destruction or redemption.

It almost always feels like sin when Ace's fingers rake across his back and the heat enclosing them is barely contained and there has been more than one occasion when Smoker had to pull out to stop Ace from burning his cabin down, even if it was by accident.

Except still, there's something about the boy that sends Smoker out of his body when they meet, all lips and hands, sliding and moving and never stopping until the sun returns and Ace finally has to leave.

If Ace hadn't been a pirate, Smoker might have called it a religious experience.


End file.
